


Bath

by yeaka



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Canon Slavery, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca tries to tempt Marcus by washing his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hammer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hammer/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for Akumaslave’s “Marcus washes Esca's feet. Marcus is still the master, and they're both getting turned on.” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/). Special thanks to Abbeyjewel for betaing! This isn't historically accurate.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Eagle or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Esca departs as soon as they’re “home” from the hunt, and Marcus, of course, doesn’t stop him. He can feel the longing look that follows his retreating back, but Marcus almost never orders Esca to do anything, certainly nothing as inane as _stay by my side forever_ , so Esca takes his leave.

He collects a large basin, fills it with water, and fetches a rag. After a rigorous round of hunting—where in Esca spent considerable time marveling that a Roman’s been stupid enough to arm him and even more time whether or not to skewer said sexy-as-fuck but still Roman master right off his horse—they both need baths. But Marcus never allows Esca to bathe him, and Esca knows exactly why.

Marcus _wants_ Esca, as desperately as Esca has come to want him. Or his body, at least. Marcus may be the enemy, but he is still a man, a handsome one, a perfectly chiseled one, a traitorously sympathetic and _kind_ one. He has never been cruel to Esca, though Esca has deliberately provoked him on more than one occasion, and he has the skill of looking sometimes like an adorable puppy and other times like a proud, fierce wolf. Either way, his perfect body oozes unintentional sexuality, and Esca’s decided that if he’s going to spend the rest of his life here, he’s at least not going to do it celibate. He deserves good sex. He’s had enough of the terrible kind. And now he’s got a master he might actually want, on some sick, base level, and, he thinks, he might be able to do it _his_ way, too. He doesn’t want the Roman game of dominance usually asserted over slaves. He wants to be the one to debase his master, wants it either rough and equal or with him violating Marcus’ faith and body. And from the way Marcus looks at him, like Marcus would bend in two just to please him, Esca thinks he really could have his way.

But he isn’t going to start anything. Because he knows his desire is unhealthy, and in some bizarre way, he doesn’t want to be responsible for it. He wants Marcus to be a good little Roman and just takes what he so madly wants, so Esca can still blame him for everything. Given that Marcus has so far resisted all of Esca’s other subtle invitations, Esca knows he’ll have to up his game. Which is why he brings the water and rag back to Marcus’ room. He can’t help but think, as he passes the narrow bed, how much comfier it must be than his own hard cot in his slave quarter’s. His body yearns for a soft bed almost as much as it yearns to _never surrender_.

Marcus is standing in the corner, looking at the little eagle carving atop his dresser, the one that usually hangs around his neck. He glances over as Esca comes in, lips parting in short surprise and maybe what’s going to be a greeting, but the determined look on Esca’s face must stop him. Esca can see the hunger flicker over them, like it always does. It’s the same broiling, clawing lust that Esca first saw in the pit, oddly tempered over with a gentleness that no other Roman’s ever worn. Or at least, that Esca’s seen. It doesn’t make Marcus any less his oppressor, but it does make certain situations easier for him to manipulate.

He thinks of telling Marcus what he’s going to do, ordering Marcus over to sit in the chair—Marcus would do it, too—but the words don’t come out in time. Esca simply sinks to his knees in front of his master, buckling against the cold floor. He places the basin beside himself, and Marcus asks, “Esca, what are you doing...?”

“Cleaning your feet,” Esca answers. He leaves off Marcus’ title, because it always makes Marcus flinch to hear, and that wouldn’t be conducive to Esca’s plan. He drapes the rag over the top of the bowl and tugs at the leg of Marcus’ braccae. When Marcus doesn’t move fast enough, Esca’s pats his calf, ushering him to turn around, like guiding an ignorant horse. Marcus obeys, turning to face Esca, looking down with confused eyes.

Esca picks Marcus’ left foot up to place in his lap, not caring if the dirty underside is pressing muck into his thighs. His clothes are all slave-rags that don’t truly belong to him. Nothing does. There’s a spark of mingled sadness and irritation in Esca when he thinks of it, but he ushers that away: not now. He’s already talked himself up to this task. And maybe... just maybe... if Marcus is as foolish and compliant as he thinks... perhaps Esca will someday be able to wrangle more freedom out of their ‘relationship’ than just some good sex.

Another unhealthy thought. He’s too worn down to care. It’s a plan for another time anyway, and for now, he holds both hands around Marcus’ ankle. It’s thick and warm in his palms, like all of Marcus’ muscles and skin. He runs slowly up, the sides of his hands catching on the bottom of Marcus’ braccae, and he bunches the fabric higher, fingers smoothing over the scratch of dark hairs. He pushes it over Marcus’ knee, and Marcus mutters, voice a little deeper than usual, “Esca—”

“The dirtier your feet, the more I must clean the floor,” Esca recites: a rehearsed excuse. In reality, he does a half job of cleaning either way. But Marcus, perhaps thinking this is truly for Esca’s benefit, hushes.

He actually says, “Of course. I am sorry.” He _apologizes_. Some Roman.

With the one leg clear, Esca’s finger pads graze back down, over Marcus’ ankle, around the leather binding. He draws to the front and unlaces the knot, then sticks his fingers into the top to gently tug it loose. He keeps one hand there, brushing above the sandal’s ties to hold the girth of Marcus’ leg, and drops the other to slip below Marcus’ sole. He latches onto the bottom of the sandal and looks up through half-lowered lashes. He pushes all of his desire through his eyes when he orders, “Lift your foot.”

Marcus, staring back down with rapt attention, obeys, just as always. Esca helps guide him, moving him up, and holds his gaze while tugging the sandal off. There’s a conflict in Marcus’ eyes. He’s probably wondering if he should do this himself, but Esca gives him no option. Esca removes the sandal and places it next to the water basin, then guides Marcus’ foot back to his lap. He slides it farther up this time, cupping the heel to move it until the curled toes nudge at Esca’s crotch, and then Esca has to stifle his own gasp. He’s not entirely limp—he never is when he’s at Marcus’ feet. Briefly, he imagines using Marcus’ foot right now to get himself off, knowing Marcus would let him, but also that he wants _more_. And if he’s slow, so as not to startle and scare his centurion off, he can get it.

He keeps a hold of Marcus’ foot with one hand, making sure it doesn’t pull away, while the other fishes for the rag and dips it back into the bowl. He holds it underwater enough for it to soak in, and then he brings it over to Marcus’ foot and looks down, concentrating. He drags the cold water over Marcus’ ankle. In the warm, summer air, Marcus shivers under the contrast. Esca dabs down the top of his foot, then starts to really scrub in when he reaches the beginnings of Marcus’ toes. There are faint tan lines from where the sandal used to be, and Esca rubs at them as though trying to peel them away, make Marcus raw and new again. He spends a long time cleaning the top, deliberately prolonging their proximity.

When he does finally tilt Marcus’ foot up enough to wipe at the underside, it inevitably takes the pressure off his groin. In lieu of it, he lifts a little higher off the ground.

He turns his face to the side and presses his cheek against Marcus’ knee, leaning half on the bunched-up braccae, though he keeps his eyes downcast and on his work. Marcus’ breath hitches immediately, and it’s loud and poignant in Esca’s ears. It’s completely unnecessary, this twist of posture, but that should send it’s own message: Esca is tired of playing innocent. He scrubs at Marcus’ sole with an almost violent rigor that should be stopped, but Marcus, of course, is ramrod still.

When Esca is done wiping off each individual one of Marcus’ toes and has re-soaked the rag three times, he pauses, his hand cupping Marcus’ ankle from either end. He takes in a deep breath, close but not close enough to the growing bulge at Marcus’ crotch. He can only spare a few furtive glances at it, but the smell of arousal is thick in the air. Esca lingers and thinks of giving Marcus a foot massage just for an excuse to continue the contact, but then decides that Marcus is already getting his body: lucky Marcus is getting enough.

Esca carefully puts Marcus’ foot back in place, and again, Marcus breathes, “Esca...” It’s like his entire vocabulary is made up of breathy exaltations around Esca’s name. If anything, it only furthers Esca’s mood.

He replies only, “Marcus.” He says it light, easy, and doesn’t bother looking up, because he’s busy guiding Marcus’ right foot onto his lap. This, he does the same for, first pushing up Marcus’ braccae and taking liberties to feel along the way. Every ghost of his fingers seems to make Marcus either stiffen or tremble beneath him, and Esca is tempted, again, to end the game right here. If he buried his face in Marcus’ crotch, Marcus would probably spill himself on the spot. But that wouldn’t do much for Esca, who removes Marcus’ other sandal before sliding Marcus’ foot snugly up against his clothed cock. He’s sure, by now, that Marcus can feel the imprint of Esca’s hard shaft beneath his toes. But Marcus says nothing of it, and Esca fetches the rag to repeat his task.

This goes much the same, except Esca doesn’t wait to lean himself along Marcus leg. If anything, he relaxes more, practically draping himself over it, and he turns his body enough that he can reach one arm around it. He scrubs Marcus’ peach skin just as hard, just as thoroughly, all the while gently shifting Marcus against him. Each brush of Marcus’ toes, which curl in hesitantly as Esca manipulates them, makes him that much harder. Touching Marcus’ body often does that to him; it can’t be helped. And he already spent most of the hunt eyeing Marcus prone figure manipulate a spear and bounce at the harsh thrusts of his horse. Sometimes Esca fears that he might stare at Marcus as much as Marcus stares at him, which is already more than Esca thinks many married couples would. The more he moves Marcus’ foot, the more seeing isn’t enough, and he rubs the light stubble of his cheek on the scratch of Marcus’ leg, smooth beneath the hair. Esca, of course, is mindful of Marcus’ injury and keeps his face away from that, but he thinks just as much of turning to kiss it, and focusing on his task becomes difficult.

Finally, Esca has scrubbed away all he can, and Marcus’ foot is almost pink-red from the ministrations. Yet Marcus has said nothing to make him stop. Esca must do so on his own, and he looks up at Marcus while he drops the rag back in the basin. He returns both of his palms to the lean line of Marcus’ calf, and he pushes every last bit of lust he has up to the surface of his expression, making his own cheeks darken with want and his lips part and his eyelids fall. He runs one hand back down Marcus’ leg and ushers it forward, like working a wooden doll, so all of Marcus’ foot is pressed hard against his crotch. For a moment, he sits like that, letting Marcus soak in the view, and Marcus gapes down at him, looking just as flushed and ravenous.

He looks baffled, too, but Esca has made his intentions very clear. Very subtly, he grinds his hips forward, rubbing his hard cock against Marcus’ heel.

Marcus whispers, “Esca, you don’t have to do this.”

Esca wouldn’t do it if he had to. But he does duck his head, and he gathers Marcus’ right foot in his hands. He brings it high enough for him to press a kiss to the top, hard and wet and lingering. Marcus makes a small, muffled sound, like a moan he didn’t quite stop in time. It takes considerable strength for Esca to pull away.

Because he doesn’t want to strain Marcus’ injury, he eases Marcus’ foot back to the floor. Then he rises on his knees, connects his eyes with Marcus’, and presses his face into Marcus’ crotch.

Marcus really gasps. His hips seem to quiver, like he’s going to step back or fall down or even hump Esca’s head, but none of it happens. Esca nuzzles in, dragging his nose across the hard bulge and opening his mouth to pant against the fabric, letting it grow moist with his breath. Marcus doesn’t look like he understands, so Esca murmurs, “Marcus... you have to do this.” It isn’t true at all, but it is if Marcus wants to please him. Marcus looks _so_ unsure, but the _want_ on his face is nearly painful. Esca closes his eyes and starts to mouth at the imprint of Marcus’ cock, thick and huge, just like he knew it’d be.

Then, suddenly, the blunt pads of Marcus’ fingers land on Esca’s forehead. They brush, tentatively, back through his bangs, and Esca leans into it, encouraging the touch. Marcus pets back through his hair and cups the back of his head. Esca could almost be content with this, getting a face-full of cock in exchange for having Marcus’ hands on him.

But he’d rather they spoil each other as one, so he pushes back against the hand in his hair, pulling away from Marcus’ crotch.

Marcus practically moans, “What do you want from me?”

Esca nearly snarls, “On your knees.”

Marcus _drops._ It’s so fast that Esca worries for Marcus’ injury, being snapped with such weight against the floor, but there’s no time to check if it’s alright. One second, he’s kneeling at his master’s feet, the next, Marcus is kneeling next to him, and Marcus grabs Esca’s face in both hands. He _stares_ at Esca, and Esca opens his mouth in invitation.

Marcus slams forward, claiming his mouth with a long-restrained fervor, and all Esca can think is: _finally._


End file.
